


an interlude for two brothers

by mwestbelle



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Bondage, Brothers, Dubious Consent, Gags, Hate Sex, Homophobic Language, Incest, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Sex, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is gagged. Muzzled, like some rabid creature, a sick frothing thing that could snap at any moment. When he thinks of it that way, it seems appropriate. [Post-movie, what happens when Thor takes Loki back to Asgard.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	an interlude for two brothers

**Author's Note:**

> You can't leave a beautiful man gagged and bound and in the care of his beautiful brother and not have fic blossom forth.
> 
> This fic contains what I would probably call EXTREMELY DUBIOUS consent (consent is not given, but the character does not consider it to be non-consensual based on culture reasons) so take care if consent issues are a trigger for you. There is also fantasy Norse-y homophobia

Loki is gagged. Muzzled, like some rabid creature, a sick frothing thing that could snap at any moment. When he thinks of it that way, it seems appropriate.

He clenches his teeth around the bit, fighting with bone against the immovable power of enchanted metal. There’s no way to bite through it, but he could try, press until his teeth cracked. The idea is pleasing to him, to appear before Odin and his glittering throng of sycophants and peons. And when they asked him to speak, they would remove the gag and find the shattered remains of his teeth, the jagged shards still white in the bleeding ruin of his mouth. He tries to bite down hard enough, exert his strength upon the infernal muzzle, but Thor (infernal Thor) sees what he is doing and yanks hard on the chain that binds him to his brother, like an unruly mongrel on a lead. Loki is pulled off balance and comes up short, stumbling to catch himself, humiliated. When he glowers up through the hair that’s fallen in his face, he expects to see Thor’s dumb grin, enjoying the suffering of the villain. But Thor isn’t even looking at him.

The Tesseract will take them back to Asgard, and though Loki takes hold of it when it is time, he chafes to be so close to the thing that would have brought him all he wished for. It is his Jotun heritage, he supposes, that bore his affinity to this thing of such destructive power. And now Thor will bring it to Odin and it will become one of many relics, spoils of Asgardian wars, trapped and seething. Like himself.

He feels the rush of the Tesseract activating, worlds melting way around him. It’s far easier than when he traveled from one end of the galaxy to another, through a passage born of sheer untempered power. He can picture the halls of Odin’s palace, the playground of his boyhood days. The throne room will be filled now, teeming with the mighty of Asgard, gathered to see the blood traitor, the Jotun scum brought low, and Odin on his throne, watching with his single eye, a gaze as impenetrable as his fortress. Or so he thought, once. Loki proved him wrong.

Although travelling through the pathways built by the contained Tesseract is smoother than the raw version, Loki still falls to his knees, disoriented, when the melting ceases. The smell is enough to tell him that he has returned to Asgard, but when he finds his bearings, he discovers that he is not in Odin’s hall. He kneels in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by thick fragrant grass, tall trees. The sort of place that Thor would go hunting in their youth; Loki had never been particularly interested in the slaughter of mindless things. His tastes changed, as he grew older.

Thor stands before him now, the chain that binds Loki to him still wrapped around his massive fist, an expression of consternation on his golden face. Loki has a thousand barbs for Thor, the lumbering brute. This is the same expression Thor made often in their youth after one of Loki’s quips, when he did not quite understand what had been said but suspected it was not kind. But Loki’s is gagged and he can say nothing.

“Brother,” Thor says. He stops after that and takes a breath. He seems to be casting about for words, and he has as much time as he would like now that Loki cannot speak, still on his knees. “I have brought you here, instead of to Father, because I believe in you.”

_You believe in a lie,_ Loki would say to him. _You believe in a brother you never had. You are as much a fool as you have always been._

“I believe that there is still good in your heart, brother.” The links of the chain clink against each other as Thor shifts his grip. “And if you would only seek forgiveness, I know Father would be merciful.”

_Beg forgiveness, you mean._ Loki knows that there is no mercy in the All-Father’s iron heart, and certainly not even a shred of kindness for a Jotun criminal. Thor could be granted forgiveness. He was golden and true, _worthy_. Loki is not so lucky. He glares up at his brother, silent behind the gag, and he can tell that his refusal weighs heavily on Thor, who grunts in frustration.

“Do not be sullen, Loki, when I speak to great purpose. You are my brother, whatever your sins, and I will not see you brought down by your own pride.” He takes a breath, and his gaze is softened when he speaks again. “I know what it is to be arrogant and to suffer for it. It was your lesson that allowed me to live as a better man.”

Loki would scoff if he could, that Thor is still so weakened by sentiment as to call what Loki did a lesson. _I stole your throne,_ he yearns to say. _I took everything from you, not to teach you, but to humiliate you, to ruin you. I unmade you, and you are grateful for it, you great oaf._ He can stand it no longer and jerks his arms, tugging fruitlessly at the chain. It hurts him more than it can inconvenience Thor, but at least it shows his displeasure. He is not a tamed beast for Thor to lead about, force him to beg at his feet for scraps of kindness. He was king of Asgard and nearly king of Midgard; Loki will not accept Thor’s saccharine lies of forgiveness and humility, swallow down his falsehoods like so much sweet wine.

He sees Thor’s jaw clench, an inkling of that infamous temper the Midgardians believe they have cured him of. “Brother, my words are from my heart. You must listen to me.”

For a moment, Loki meets his brother’s eyes: stormy and troubled. And then he summons all his force to fling himself backwards, landing hard on his back and all he can see is sky, which seems dull in comparison to Thor’s eyes. The pain is worth it, for it causes Thor to stumble forward, taken off guard. For once, Thor is the one to trip, and Loki would laugh were his tongue free.

His laughter would not last long, however. In an instant, Thor is upon him, massive hand closed tight around his throat, forcing his head back. “I have done more for you than any living soul may imagine, and still you defy me at every turn.” Loki tries to get away, though he knows he cannot. He cannot surrender himself either, so he squirms under Thor’s grip. Thor only squeezes tighter, and Loki sees nothing but darkness as his breath is stolen, until Thor pulls back. His hand is still on Loki’s throat, and there is still thunder as frightening as any Mjolnir can muster in his eyes. “My gift has never been in words brother. That is your province. Very well. If my words will not convince you, I must rely on action.”

_As though you have ever done anything else._ Loki would spit in Thor’s face, a mouthful that tastes of bile, perhaps some of the bloody teeth from his imaginings, but for the gag that binds him. Thor is right, for once; words have always been his weapon, his venom. The well-appointed syllables of some sorcery or a vicious insult, each has been his friend, made him strong in the face of muscled behemoths like Thor. He has no words now, no defense as Thor manhandles him, maneuvers him back onto his knees. He shoves, and Loki catches himself with his bound hands, barely. His knuckles sink a little into the soft earth.

He feels a faint tug around his neck. It’s his surcoat; Thor must be feeling it, because he grumbles, “Thought this might be an illusion too, brother.”

Loki does not know what Thor intends only through sheer incredulity. He knows this position, what may become of a fallen warrior brought low in such a way, but for all his faults, Loki knows Thor to be an honorable man. His honor _is_ his greatest fault, in many ways, but in this case, it is Loki’s comfort. Thor would not, he would never. He would consider it lowering himself, even if he did not still persist in calling Loki “brother,” even if he did not have his Midgardian wench to swoon over.

Thor rips his surcoat apart, tearing the leather as though it was nothing but old paper, and slides his hot thick fingers up under the close cut of his tunic, finding bare skin where his trousers and his undershirt part. Loki doesn’t remember the last time someone touched his skin and he shivers. For the first time, he wills Thor to speak, to give some explanation or clumsy attempt at manipulation. It cannot truly be happening; the golden prince of Asgard cannot intend to rut with a prisoner like some common lusty soldier and his war bride. Even in the height of his arrogance, Thor did not indulge in such things. He never said that he found it distasteful, but Loki assumed this was the case. The Warriors Three also abstained from that traditional demonstration of victory when they campaigned beside their beloved prince.

But none would guess at his prior refusals, seeing Thor now. He divests Loki of his garments, tugging at what he can and tearing what he cannot, like old habit, until Loki is left in the ruined remnants of his clothing, tattered leathers about his thighs and held in place by his gauntlets -- the parts that Thor did not bother to expose. The air here is not cold, and Loki has never been sensitive to the elements, but he finds himself shaking. He feels the air and the sun on his naked skin, and it takes a moment for him to realize that it is fear that moves his body. He is afraid, as he was when he let go of Thor and tumbled off the Bifrost into nothingness, as he was when he saw his hard-bought army crumple and fail, leaving him at the mercy of his enemies again. And he is here, exposed and shivering on his hands and knees before his false brother.

Loki dreads the touch he knows is coming, and he is too lost to prevent himself from flinching when Thor lays a hand on him. But it is not the lusty paw at his hip that he expected. Thor presses his hand against the flat plane of Loki’s belly and leaves it there, massive and warm. He hulks over Loki, covering his body with his own, and the heat of him is oppressive, though it makes Loki’s chest feel heavy inside. He does not know what game Thor is playing, what torture this is, but he takes quiet pleasure in the fact that it is not pushing him to break. He can withstand this; he can even...enjoy it, in the far reaches of his mind. Thor has not won.

“Brother,” Thor says, and Loki can feel the rumble of his chest at his back. “Have you ever been breached?”

Loki’s back stiffens, but it only presses him more against Thor’s broad front. The vague pleasant feeling vanishes, replaced with a hot and twisted weight in his stomach. He does not know what to say, until a yank of the chain reminds him that he is bound and gagged, no more than a slave, unable to even answer Thor’s query. Despite his position, he has no wish to treat Thor to the sight of him pantomiming, reduced to mummery in his desperation. He ignores the question and shifts purposefully, dropping his forehead to rest on his closed fists, close enough that his nose almost brushes the manacles around his wrists. The motion presents his bare ass to Thor, a perverse dare. _Do it, Thor. Prove it._

Behind him, Thor groans, and his other hand makes itself known, palming over Loki’s ass. “I usually prefer a maid with a generous bottom, but you are no maid.”

_Does your precious wench know that?_ Loki wants to sneer. _She is shaped much like a youth who has not yet entered manhood. Do I remind you of her?_ Instead he resists the urge groan himself when Thor traces his thick calloused thumb over the cleft of Loki’s ass. He has always been sensitive here, preferred such stimulation to the more acceptable forms, and even in this, his cock twitches in interest.

He does not expect Thor to be measured in his approach--when has that ever been the case?--but he’s still surprised by the sudden press of Thor’s thumb against his entrance. Thor’s hand is dry and the friction is a tease now but Loki suspects it will not be nearly so pleasant when Thor is cleaving him apart. The touch is gone, but only for a moment. There is a squelching sound, and then Thor’s fingers are back, cool and slick. “A gift from Tony Stark,” Thor says, close enough to Loki’s ear that he can feel his breath. “You should be grateful to the mortals you so mistreated.”

The gift eases the way of things, but Thor’s thick blunt fingers still make him burn. He should be grateful, he supposes, that Thor does not merely try to force him down onto his cock. Then he truly might be cleaved in two; this small kindness is more than he anticipated.

When Thor does push into him, Loki bites down hard on the bit to keep from making a noise. He can hear the grind of his teeth against metal, deafening in his own ears, but he suspects Thor can hear nothing but his own groan. His cock is massive, thick and _long_ , and when he is thrusting in, Loki thinks wildly that it might never end and Thor will simply push farther and farther until he is impaled. But it is the imaginings of a fool, and soon he can feel Thor even closer and panting, buried to the root in Loki’s ass. Loki has never felt full like this; he has carried a spell inside of himself when necessary, until the magic curled tendrils throughout his body, making him feel tight and heavy all through his skin. Thor makes him feel like that, makes his skin crawl and itch, makes it feel like there is no room in his lungs for breath.

Loki is fighting to remain silent, but Thor has no such compulsion. He is loud, unbelievably so, and were he in possession of all his faculties, Loki might worry that even in this deserted part of the forest that someone might hear and come upon their coupling. But there is no space in Loki’s mind for such thoughts; he is reduced to Thor, groaning and grunting fervently, the slap of skin on skin, and the shameful filling of his own cock.

His cock is a traitor; it grows heavy and thick between his legs, bobbing with the force that Thor fucks him with, as though this could be arousing, anything but degrading. He wills it to wilt, to give him at least that small dignity, but it is as though he has no control. His body is alive under Thor’s touch, alight with sensations he has never known before. He is hot all over and sticky where his cock leaves wet trails when it slaps against his belly and down betwixt his legs, where the slick substance the man of iron bequeathed on Thor makes a mess of him.

The rhythm of Thor’s thrusts has steadied, and Loki could take this. He can lock himself away, ignore the insistent throb of his cock and the force of Thor deep inside of him, take solace in the mindless in and out until Thor has taken his fill and spends himself. He feels Thor’s big hands, one still sticky, close around his waist, and then he is _empty_ and he aches for the loss. Thor lifts him up as though he is nothing, manhandles him, turning him around and sitting back before he brings Loki down in his lap, guiding him back onto his cock. As quickly as he was emptied, he is full again, and he can see Thor’s face, flushed red from the exertion, eyes blue and bright and full of something that is lust but is not lust at the same time. And Loki moans.

His sound is strangled, garbled by the gag, and he knows he must sound like some mewling beast, but Thor lets out a throaty groan and runs his hand up to grab Loki’s hair. Loki is not sure if it is the sticky one or not, because it is as though a dam in his throat has burst, letting forth every noise he was so desperate to hold back for his pride and dignity. He is reduced to a shamed, wanton thing, letting out little choked noises.

“Brother,” Thor groans, tugging at Loki’s hair, pulling his head back and kissing his neck, rubbing his rough beard over Loki’s pale skin. “Gods. I cannot lose you again, brother, I will not.” He is so deep, so very deep inside, and Loki’s cock is trapped between his own flat belly and the hard ridges of Thor’s. All of this, and Thor still names him brother.

Loki’s hands are still bound, and he could wrap the chain around Thor’s neck. He does not have the strength to garrote him, not at the height of his strength and certainly not now, but it would be more than an inconvenience. It would remind Thor that it is a viper he holds his in his hands, and though he is defeated, Loki still has fangs. He _should_ wrap the chain around Thor’s neck.

_I hate you,_ Loki says against the gag. It’s muffled mumbles, nothing more, and he doubts Thor can distinguish his words from his humiliating noises of pleasure. But he cannot remain silent. _You are a fool, an embarrassment. I am not this weak thing, for you to dominate. I will never submit._ But his words are belied by his actions, tipping his head willingly when Thor nips at his throat, clenching down around Thor’s cock buried in him to the hilt. He can no longer claim that he does not savor Thor’s touch, that he does not yearn for Thor to _touch_ him, wrap that massive hand around Loki’s cock and bring him off as though this coupling were as equals. It is a foolish yearning; there can be no equality between men in coupling, one must always be the victor. And Thor has handily claimed that title. 

“Loki.” Thor moves his hand from Loki’s hair to his jaw, moving him so that they are eye to eye. He wants to see Loki broken like this, the tears in the corner of his eyes and the high flush in his cheeks, awash with arousal and unable to control himself, see the ice prince melting in his lap. It is what Loki would want, were their positions reversed, and so he is shocked when Thor does not smirk or lean in to lick at the salty trail of a tear or two that have escaped and run down his cheeks. Instead, Thor kisses him. 

He kisses the gag, more accurately, but the feelings punch deep in Loki’s gut as much as if Thor truly had kissed him full on the mouth. Thor cups his hand around the back of Loki’s skull and kisses ensorcelled metal as though it were his brother’s lips, and Loki thinks, for the first time, that perhaps Thor has not been lying to him. 

Loki has lied. He has lied for his own gains as well as for the downfall of others - his enemies and simply those who got in his way. There is so much in his head, so many falsehoods like _son_ and _brother_ , so many dark and twisted things that he has never really considered that perhaps it is different inside Thor’s head. Perhaps he can say these things without eyes to his triumph, lend his aid without expecting an eventual favor in return, want honestly and without subversion to do good; all the thing that Loki’s cold heart cannot fathom. 

Thor presses his sweaty forehead against Loki’s and reaches between them to cover Loki’s cock with his hand. He thrusts into Loki, gasps against the gag, rubs him until the pair of them are rutting like beasts in heat, and Loki cannot _think_ , can do nothing but feel. He comes first, spattering Thor’s perfect abdomen with his seed, but Thor laughs, like it is a joy to be marked like a whore. He is still laughing when he finds his own end inside Loki, and it feels so very deep inside, an entirely different world secreted away inside his body. But it is not so far after all, and before Thor pulls out, there is already seed leaking from him and staining his thighs. The feeling is unsettling, but he is already a mess, and Thor will need proof to show the All-Father that he made Loki into his woman, took him as surely as any trophy. 

“Brother,” Thor rumbles again, and he shifts to press his moist lips against Loki’s forehead, kissing him softly. He pulls back a little, and he is smiling again. He looks a little tired, but mostly satisfied. “There is a stream not far from here. You will wait here, and I will clean us both. And then we will return to the palace, as I have promised.” His smile fades a little, and he looks upon Loki with the most earnest eyes. “And when we are before Father, you...will you ask for forgiveness? As we discussed?” 

Loki finds Thor’s definition of “discussed” rather broad, and he looks back at Thor for a long moment before he nods. Thor whoops and kisses Loki’s forehead again before setting him gingerly in the grass and bounding off into the trees. Loki can feel the warm prickle of grass against his bare skin, the oncoming soreness in his well-used body, and he does not know if he can lower himself to beg the All-Father for clemency. But he knows that it gives him some strange pleasure to see Thor smile. 


End file.
